"Sorry.." Quinn muses as Dempsey pulls away, her hands immediately moving to support her belly. It is so heavy, and she is so ready for this to all be over and done with. But, as Dempsey questions her, a small smile quirks at her lips and she nods, those chocolate hues rising to meet her friend's hazel.

"It's been a while." Quinn sighs, blinking back those pesky emotions. "I'm sorry. It must be alarming. I promise, it's okay."

Giving her friend an encouraging smile, she reaches forward and touches a hand to Dempsey's arm. "Just a few more weeks. But, enough about me. What're you doing here? I've been worried about you. You never texted that you were safe..."

Isolated. Quinn is thoroughly isolated. Especially now. Just barely a month away from giving birth to a son, her belly is swollen and her body tired. But today is different. Today, Gideon couldn’t tend to the market and she had been able to beg her way into making the trip. She just needs air. There is nothing she has craved more than civilization.

She had wandered away, but only to the surrounding blocks. Quinn understands that at this stage of the game, Gideon would have her watched like a hawk, even from a distance. In a hand, a bag is heavy as it hangs, holding a collection of tiny human sized things. Baby clothes. Blankets. A mobile of elephants, and a monitor. If today would be her last time going out, and it could be, she would make the most of it.

And then, she hears a familiar voice call out. Stopping just before reaching the edge of the market, she turns to find Dempsey. There is no helping it as her eyes well up with unspilt tears as a smile takes refuge upon her face. This is the first time she has seen anyone she’s known in what feels like forever. Coupled with her hormones, and it is a recipe for disaster.

Before she can even stop herself, she is reaching for a hug. “I can’t believe you’re here!”

Quinn stares at the message for several minutes, chewing at her lip in thought. There is a nagging feeling, some little voice cautioning her in the back of her mind. It goes against her nature, and she shoves it aside, assuming it to be a product of her environment. Still...

Demps
Well, juice is a healthy crutch. I heard some people eat loads of Twinkies and watch Documentaries. Twinkies are okay, but too many give you a tummy ache. Are you not sure where you are? I'm still in New Orleans, but I think I'm moving soon. Not sure where. Suppose neither of us really know where we are. Twinsies!

She's not kidding, either. For the remainder of her time, Quinn would find herself rooting through her suitcase searching for something that would protect her from the oppressive chill of the Northeast winter. With the imminent return to New Orleans looming overhead, Quinn is eager to go out, have fun, and be comfortable.

There needs not be some sort of introduction. When the text rolls through, Quinn is immediately sure that it is from Dempsey. She is, after all, the only person she had spoken to about juice. And, with her return to New Orleans looming overhead like a stormy raincloud, there is nothing more that she wants to do than to enjoy a last hoorah with her new friend.

Dempsey
Juice.

She would stare at the message for a moment, trying to come up with something decisive. A plan. Where would they go for juice? What would they talk about?

Sometimes, Dempsey reminds Quinn of herself. Usually, the her manner of speaking. Pleasant, awkward, and decisive. So, when the woman finally says yes, Quinn breaks out into an incredible smile and bounces where she stands, hands holding to the strap of her bag to keep it from falling off her shoulder. At the mention of hungry goldfish, Dempsey would find her new friend to be completely trusting in the statement. "Poor fish. Say hi, for me!"

She takes a moment to simply look at Dempsey again, absorbing the fact that she had made a new friend. Her first new friend in ages, for which she has high hopes. "I'll see you tomorrow, Dempsey! Just let me know when you're ready."

With that, she releases her grip upon her bag and waves before carrying on down the street with a ridiculously pleased spring to her step. Her thoughts revolving around juice, and a friend.

No alcohol. No coffee. Quinn is fast learning things that Dempsey does not care for, in comparison to those she does. It doesn't case her to falter at all. Instead, her head would tilt, not sure if she had ever met someone who had never had coffee. Until, that is, the explanation came. "It's probably best. I can barely wake up without coffee in the morning. Otherwise, I'm just sleepy all day."

Quinn reaches into her bag, rifling through it before extracting a pen and paper. Many would find it odd that someone would still keep things like this, but she always finds a need to take notes. In this particular notebook, she keeps track of her interactions at the compound. To be honest, she needs it, as every day is a new challenge. Today, it finds new use.

A scrawl of block lettering forms upon the paper, her name and number filling the space now. With a bit more care that is needed, she pulls the page and holds it out to Dempsey. "I like juice, too. Apple is my favorite. Tomorrow you can text me when you're up, and we can go have breakfast and juice, if you like? Or call, if you prefer that. I don't mind either way. Or if you're hungry now, we can do breakfast for... um... dinner?"

It is decided, and Quinn, ever the hugger, would be the last person to deny such an experience. The smile on her face speaks volumes to her happiness at this new landmark in time. While Dempsey is awkward and stiff, Quinn is fluid and warm. Slender arms wrap around the woman, without care or worry. Friends hug. Quinn loves hugs, and never passes judgment on another. Though this hug did last for some time, she hardly finds it bizarre. Sometimes, a person just needs a hug. And Quinn, in her dark and awkward life circumstance, is one of those people.

She'd be the first to pull away, still pleasant, though she does wonder at how different this hug had been. In her mind, it is because Dempsey hasn't had any friends before. Warm hugs are something that would come with time, as they became more comfortable with each other.

There is an electric sort of excitement building up in Quinn. Dempsey is her friend. It has been so long since she's had the chance to make a new friend. She can be honest with Dempsey, and confide in her, and be that very same person for the woman before her. And then it strikes her, "I barely know anything about you."

While most would find the question to be something of doubt, Quinn instead is fueled by her own exuberance. "Do you like coffee?"

Despite the hanging silence between them, Quinn's smile never falters. It is absolutely true, she doesn't think at all like Dempsey. She wouldn't notice things like her, or begin to. Instead, she would think in other ways. Quinn would reflect on how nice it is to talk to someone outside of the cult. She would note how lovely it is to be able to be comfortable, and to speak whatever comes to mind. And, in a sadder little place in her mind, she thinks about how much she is going to miss it when she has to return to New Orleans.

It only serves to solidifying Quinn's desire to make a real connection with Dempsey, and maintain that connection, despite the looming distance.

Dempsey's slip would go unnoticed, and her confession would be met with surprise. How could someone so nice never have had a friend? "Now you do."

She pauses a moment as a touch of insecurity hits her. Confidence had never been an issue for Quinn before, but over the past several months, she'd found herself questioning many things. Her smile would be replaced with a hopeful sort of expression, chocolate hues locked onto Dempsey as if hanging on her every word and movement. "I mean, I'd really like to be your friend."

Personal space amongst friends isn't alarming for the trusting girl. Often, Quinn's nature of being a hugger is what alarms others... until she manages to worm her way into their heart. Something she is also prone to doing. So, unable to help the tiny little chuckle at their comical exchange, she takes the chance of proximity to really look at Dempsey. She hadn't done that at the bar.

She's pretty, with warm eyes and bouncy hair that Quinn just wants to toy with. Really, everything about the woman is warm.

"I really liked talking to you, at the bar," she admits, if it could even be called that. Quinn loves meeting people. She loves talking to people. And Dempsey had been a real breath of fresh air. "You're really nice. Like a friend."

Quinn felt something touch her. Rather, someone. It is far from familiar, but definitely not the sort that makes the hair at the back of her neck stand at attention. This is friendly, or at least that is what she thinks.

As the other woman had been reaching for her wallet, Quinn had been turning, resulting in a hand upon arm. To her, it feels like a call to attention. With a look, the blond would give a megawatt smile. "Dempsey! It's you!"

With a smile still tugging at her lips, Soleil allows Dempsey to pluck the slip of paper from between her fingers. She’d find the address of the brownstone and a phone number. “Great, text me sometime,” she laughs, “Us, Whitakers like to live scandalously, so maybe we’ll even have breakfast for dinner.”

Soleil takes a moment to regard the young woman, intrigued by her unapologetic confidence. “Ah, the one who shares Rhiannon’s love of pancakes,” she muses, taking the outstretched hand in her own, “Pleasure.”

Her grip lingers a longer than what would typically be deemed ‘comfortable,’ an amused smile to mirror Dempsey’s taking command of her lips. “And yes, the newest recruit. Welcome,” she continues, “Why don’t you…”

Soleil digs around in her satchel, frantically searching for something to write with. “Why don’t you come around for dinner sometime?”

And if I told you that rent is free, a large man with a beard stocks the kitchen with his food for everyone else to eat because sharing is caring (whether he likes it or not), and we have a real, live zombie... how would you feel?